


Close To His Chest

by yet_intrepid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pre-Series, Road Trips, Studying, Teenchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re following Dad’s new truck down the freeway, right into the morning sun. Dean's listening to rock and complaining about a lack of sunglasses; Sam's studying straight from the dictionary and not telling anybody why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close To His Chest

“Wish I had a pair of freaking sunglasses,” Dean mutters for the third time.

They’re following Dad’s new truck down the freeway, right into the morning sun. Sam shifts the dictionary on his lap. He was supposed to take the SAT in three weeks back in Riverside, but now he’ll have to call and cancel, see if there’s a center where they’re headed. See if three weeks is too late to sign up. See if he can come up with a way to pay for it all over again.

He shakes his head and flips the page, looking for a word he doesn’t know. It’s not the best way to study, but he can’t afford one of those books with the practice problems. Last library didn’t have them, either. Maybe this one will.

“Dude,” says Dean, over the music, “are you _reading the dictionary_?”

“So what if I am,” says Sam.

“Because you already are one, that’s what. You’re a living, breathing dictionary. Like, why do you even need that thing?”

“Helps me learn things,” says Sam. He’s not having this discussion. Not talking about the SAT. Not now, and possibly not ever. Last thing he wants is Dad finding out and keeping him home, and the closer to his chest he keeps this, the less chance there is of that.

Dean’s cell goes off, clashing with the tape. He picks it up right away.

“Hey Dad. Yep. Sure thing. Yes sir. See you.” And then he grins, flipping the phone shut. “Breakfast time, Sammy.”

Sam checks the clock. It’s almost ten, late for breakfast but definitely not lunch. They’ve been on the road four hours. With the timing, Sam’s thinking Dad won’t stop for lunch.

Which is annoying, sure, but again. Less contact, less chance of something slipping out.

They pull off on the next exit. Dean rolls down the window and turns up the music, blasting into the six-building patch of civilization and parking beside Dad at a fast-food place. Sam takes the dictionary with him, because he doesn’t know if he can deal with Dad unless he has something to distract him. And food doesn’t count, no matter what Dean says.

Dad’s waiting outside. “Sam, is that the dictionary?”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t see why you couldn’t just leave it in the car.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. He leaves the dictionary tucked under his arm. It’s not an order, after all.

Then they go in, and they order their food (Dean first, like always, because he can tell better what Dad’s willing to spend, and then Sam because he eats less anyway so if Dean guesses wrong and Dad starts making that face, Sam can just cut back; it doesn’t really matter). Dad grabs a table while Sam and Dean wait for the food. By the time they’ve picked up their trays, he’s got newspaper spread everywhere.

Dean catches Sam’s eye. “Hey Dad,” he says, setting Dad’s food down on an empty corner of the table, “it’s a nice day. Sam and I thought it’d be nice to eat outside.”

Dad doesn’t look up. “You boys go ahead,” he says, and they make their escape.

It is a nice day, sunny and warm with a breeze. The tables are all empty, too, so they take their pick and settle in. After all, Dad’s probably going to take a while.

“Wish I had some sunglasses,” Dean says again.

Sam laughs, settling the dictionary open beside him as he starts on the cinnamon roll he added in because it was only a dollar. He can’t help it. They’re out of the car and Dean’s ridiculous.

“Still can’t believe you’re reading the freaking dictionary,” Dean says.

Sam laughs again. “Here,” he says. He wipes his fingers on his jeans and pushes the dictionary across the table. “You wanna help? Find a word, and make up a couple definitions and mix the real one in. Then I have to guess.”

“Dude,” says Dean. “That sounds like a car game. A dictionary car game.”

Twenty minutes later, Sam’s cleaning out his yogurt container and still laughing about Dean’s suggestion that the word _repercussions_ means either _cushions for farm workers_ or _songs with lots of drumming_. Maybe he’s not learning vocabulary any faster, but he’s definitely having a lot more fun.

“Efface,” says Dean. “Verb. To make weird faces. To stand directly opposite. To wipe out. To get your face erased.”

Sam cracks up again. “To wipe out, of course.”

Dean looks at him very seriously. “Are you sure?”

For just a second Sam doubts (maybe it _is_ the one about standing opposite) but then Dean’s bursting out laughing too and throwing a sandwich wrapper at him. “Screw you,” says Sam, and he throws it back, and Dean’s elbow catches his drink and it falls all over him.

Then he sees Dad. Standing there, watching, while Sam’s arm is still back from throwing and Dean’s scrambling to catch the cup before it soaks the dictionary. Dad gives them both one long look, and then he shakes his head.

“Pick up your trash and let’s get back on the road,” he says. “Sam, you can ride with me.”

“But—” Sam starts.

“That’s an order,” says Dad.

Sam turns away to help Dean with the trash. The dictionary isn’t wet, except a little at the corner; it’ll be okay. He wonders how long Dad was watching, if he saw Dean helping Sam with his vocab. If he realized it couldn’t be for a school project, because Sam’s between schools.

If he knows.

Sam puts the dictionary under his arm and climbs in the truck beside Dad. Music comes on when the engine starts, but Dad shuts it off.

Sam presses his lips tight shut and holds the dictionary close to his chest. Promises himself: he’s not having this discussion. They can stay in this car all day, and Dad still won’t find out more than he already knows. Sam’s going to hold out. He’ll make the calls, and he’ll find the money, and he’ll take the SAT.

Repercussions or not, his dreams aren’t getting effaced.


End file.
